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That Laugh Was Mine
by Kelly

* The following story is totally, completely, 100% a figment of my imagination *

There he was. Jon Stewart . . . the one, the only, Jon Stewart. He was beautiful, even more beautiful than I had thought he would be. He sat with this air around him, this air of "I don't care." This nonchalance that most people had to "affect" . . . he just had it. He sat there, reading the newspaper, sipping on a hot drink he'd bought (I imagine coffee or hot chocolate). I wondered what it was he was reading for a second, but then I realized it didn't even matter. There he was, and he was beautiful.

And then there SHE was. Just the mere sight of her made my nails dig into my hands. The knowledge that it was her that got to kiss him at night. It was her that he smiled at. It was her that he hugged. It was her that he made love to. It was her that got to hear him . . . it was her! It was Tracey.

Why should she get all the glory?! Why did she get to see him last each night and first each morning? Why did she get the pleasure of seeing him smile that "only for you" smile that everyone saves for the one they love? What made her so special? Was it her hair? Cause mine's silkier. Was it her smile? Cause I have one too, and I've been told it's quite a nice one. Was it her body? Cause, mine's not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Was it her sense of humor? Cause, mine is what I pride myself on.

And then she sat next to him and took his paper. I saw the way his eyes twinkled at her as he yanked it back, making a witty comeback that I couldn't quite catch. I saw how she looked at him until he put down the paper and took her hands. They just held hands and smiled at each other. The reason why he loved her was simple. She was her. That's all the reason one ever needs to love anyone, isn't it? I loved him cause he was him, didn't I? Or, at least, I loved him for the him that he was on my TV screen. Maybe it was that hair . . . maybe it was that smile . . . maybe it was that body . . . maybe it was something in particular that just drew him to her.

I had to smile to myself then, as he returned to his sports page and she took to looking over the sales page for Macy's. Jealousy can only get you so far anyway. I guess I'll just have to settle for those two seconds in "Playing By Heart" that make me fantasize about what it would be like to kiss him. I'll just have to settle for a half hour every night, Monday through Thursday, on Comedy Central to see his beautiful face and twinkling eyes. I guess I'll just have to settle for . . .

"Excuse me . . . ma'am?"

I blink and look to my left to see him, Jon Stewart, looking at me, smiling that sweet smile of his. Like a genius, I say something incredibly witty to that: "Heh?"

He points his finger to under my chair. "Could you hand me my pen? I would get it myself, but frankly, it's in a place that would require me to molest you, so . . . ." He shrugged in a way that always made me giggle, and giggle I did.

"Sure," I said, bending down and grabbing the pen that was lodged between my purse and my leg. Indeed, his grabbing the pen would have required him putting at least one hand between my ankles. I rose up triumphantly with the pen in my hand. He reached out but I closed my hand around the pen.

He cocked his head to the side, laughing slightly. "Um . . . my pen?"

I nodded. "Uh huh . . . ."

He looked at Tracey and then back at me, holding out his hand. "Could I . . . uh . . . have it?"

I nodded. "As long as you do something for me."

He laughed then. "It's a pen, for Christ sake!"

I bent down and opened my purse. I grabbed my little notebook, flipped it open to a blank page, and handed him the pen along with the notebook. "Could I please have your autograph?"

He laughed again and I relished the fact that I made Jon Stewart laugh. That laugh was my laugh. It was for me. I had solicited that laugh, and I had earned it for myself. No one else could claim that laugh . . . no one else had even heard that laugh, but that part was beside the point. That laugh was mine!

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Kelly, with a y... K-E-L-L-Y" I told him.

With a flourish he signed it as Tracey threw away their trash as she prepared for their departure. He shut the book closed and started to hand it to me. As I reached out for it, he yanked it back, and I saw a mischievous twinkle in his eye that was meant for me. That was my twinkle. It was for me. I had solicited that twinkle, and I had . . . okay, okay, enough with the "my" bullcrap.

"But first . . ." he said.

I laughed, and he laughed again. "First what?" I asked.

He held out his hand and I took it. Shaking my hand he finally handed over my notebook. "Nice to meet you, Kelly."

I smiled up at him. "No, my pleasure, Jon . . . er . . . Mr. Stewart . . . . "

"Jon."

"Jon . . . totally my pleasure."

Tracey came back then and looped her arm through his, smiling at me. "Ready baby?" She asked quietly.

He nodded, pointing at me. "Tracey, Kelly . . . Kelly, Tracey . . . She's apparently a fan of mine?"

Tracey smiled, and she really did have a nice smile I had to admit. "Nice to meet you." She said, shaking my hand.

"See ya around!" he called over his shoulder as he and Tracey walked out of the café, and probably out of my life for good. I mean, what were the chances of me ever seeing the man of my dreams in real life again?

I opened my book and smiled at my very own personal Jon Stewart Signature:

"You Pen thief you! Damn you Kelly!!"
No, I forgive you. Good luck in all your endeavors.
-- Jon Stewart

That autograph was mine . . . all mine.

 

Added February 19, 2002.


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